


familiar lyrics

by bokutoma



Series: sylvix week 2019 [7]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, guitarist felix, wholesome breakfast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 21:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21106436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokutoma/pseuds/bokutoma
Summary: if felix lays down a melody, sylvain can be counted on to know the wordsfree day // end sylvix week





	familiar lyrics

**Author's Note:**

> if you missed yesterday’s sylvix week, it was chapter three of floriography

Music had always come naturally to Felix. That wasn’t to say it had been easy, necessarily, but the Fraldariuses had always cultivated rhythm and tone like other families did academics and sports. He had been six when he’d found his father’s bass - more accurately, Glenn had found it when Rodrigue had forgotten to put it away after a late night bar crawl. His brother hadn’t let him touch it, bastard that he was, but it hadn’t mattered. Glenn was no good with an unfamiliar instrument, but the possibility had still called to him, resonating in his rib cage,

Rodrigue had gotten home from the label after an hour of them sitting like this, Glenn working out rhythm against the strings while Felix sat enraptured. Both of them had expected anger; he had told them time and time again to stop poking around his private spaces.

Instead, he had laughed so hard he nearly cried, then sat down and showed Glenn where to put his hands.

Outside the Fraldarius house, no one was surprised when Felix took up the guitar. It was an instrument, after all, and strings seemed to be a family favorite. To Rodrigue and Glenn, it had been a rejection.

“Eggs, Felix!” a voice shouted now, down the corridor of the dorms he shared with twenty-odd others. It was familiar, smooth and expressive, so reluctantly, he tore his hands away from the guitar, putting it back on its stand and stepping over a pile of clothes before shouting back.

“Scrambled!”

It was another ten seconds before he actually made it around the piles in his room - Ingrid was going to throw a fit - and to the door, but Sylvain was already there, smiling in that stupid way of his.

“Go look after the eggs, idiot,” Felix said, but the bite was dampened by the mild embarrassment he felt at the other being able to see the disastrous state of his room. “If they burn, even the Goddess wouldn’t be able to save you.”

He felt more than sees Sylvain’s smile behind him, but knowing someone as long as the two of them had known each other would grant you a sort of second sight when it came to these things.

“Damn, you really know how to scare a man,” Sylvain said, all feather light tease and impish charm. “You’re almost making me think my darling softy Fe is gone.”

The glare Felix hurled at him for that was one hundred percent genuine, but the smile on his oldest friend’s face never wavered. Sometimes, he wished he _could_ intimidate Sylvain, if only to throw him off his game.

The eggs were already on a plate when he reached their communal kitchen set up, so he supposed he had to give this round in their little game of banter to Sylvain.

When they slid into chairs across from each other, Sylvain was already drumming against the table, and Felix recognized it as the melody for song they’d been trying to work out.

“Put a hole in my head,” he muttered, shoveling more eggs into his mouth. “I’m going to split my skull open if you keep that up.”

Instead of the banter he’d expected, Sylvain frowned thoughtfully. “That could be a good lyric, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Swallow your food before you talk. Hole in my head, I mean. It’s edgy enough to fit with your whole vibe, and I’m sure we could make something of it if we thought about it a little more.”

“Why don’t we ask Ashe?” Felix mumbled around another mouthful, spiteful until the end. “You know he loves wordy shit.”

Sylvain stifled a snort against the palm of his hand, and Felix was glad for it, if only because it broke his concentration. “We can’t ask him to _write lyrics_, Fe, because Ingrid has been on my ass about giving him a break and how the two of us need to learn to do things for ourselves.”

“That’s stupid.”

Still, when they finish breakfast, they’ve nailed down the first draft of a chorus, knees knocking together as their shoulders brush, and something about it feels like the family he’s been missing.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @kingblaiddyd and wake me up with some caffeine (akaschoene)


End file.
